


Echoes and Wind

by muse_of_mbaku



Series: Echoes and Wind [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), infinity war - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:17:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_of_mbaku/pseuds/muse_of_mbaku
Summary: After the events of Infinity War, how does M'Baku's wife inform him his children are among the missing?





	1. Chapter 1

Recommended Listening: Videotape by Radiohead

You would never find comfort in her smile. No matter if the sight of it was the last bit of her you would ever see. Isoke, the beautiful combination of you and your husband, was now a scattering of dust pooled in the white linen of your sleeping gown. Between night and morning, just as the dark was pulling back to the pink of dawn, you’d heard her small cry in the bassinet across the room. Swaddled among the beautifully carved bed handcrafted by her father, Isoke quieted at the sight of your face. She was mischievous as M’Baku. Her cry had simply been a ploy to be cuddled next to your heart. You were glad to oblige. 

The warmth of the small body next to your skin was a comfort. You’d been tossing and turning since late evening. M’Baku had left then, pulled to duty by the growing responsibilities of his council position. When the tight contingent of Dora Milaje had appeared in the throne room during your nightly family time, your stomach had clenched in fear. The presence of visitors from the Golden City wasn’t unusual now, but the lateness of the hour, the tension in their faces, and the hushed tones in which they spoke to M’Baku set off warning bells inside you. When his attention shifted from the fierce women before him and settled onto you, the worry in his eyes propelled you to his side. Your husband was many things, fearful was not one of them.

You’d handed Isoke to Mosi, your son and first born. He was his father’s child in stature, but where M’Baku was prone to laughter which could morph into seriousness Mosi was a stone-faced boy who seemed wise beyond his years. When you settled his infant sister into the ten year old’s arms, you placed your lips to his ear.

“Khusela udade wakho. Ndiyakuthanda.” (Protect your sister. I love you.)

You’d watched the retreating back of your son briefly before bringing your attention back to M’Baku. He’d seen the questions masking your face and reached down to cradle it. He filled you in on the threat at hand and your fear grew by leaps and bounds. You didn’t want him to go. You wanted to shout at M’Baku that his responsibility was your people, and your people only. But from the set of his jaw you knew he felt this threat was bigger than just Wakanda. There was no getting a handle on that fear. M’Baku had excused the two of you from T’Challa’s advance party and stepped into the antechamber beside the throne. He’d kissed you, run his hands over the curves of your face and body as if trying to memorize every bit of you. You’d done the same, unsure if the slight tremble in his hands was an indication he knew of a possibility he wouldn’t return. 

Then before he descended the mountain into the darkness, you’d watched him gather Mosi to his chest and speak of bravery and responsibility before pulling back to memorize his son’s face. You’d bitten your lip until you tasted the cooper of blood. You handed Isoke to him, the tiny body nearly fitting into the palm of his hand. You wanted to cry at how he’d cooed at her, used one of his large fingers to press into her dimples until she giggled. The sound of their mixed laughter made your heart swell and break. You couldn’t wave as the caravan pulled away from the palace. Instead, you could only raise your hand and throw your words of love into the snow after him. 

You were humming to Isoke when she shattered into soft pieces in your arms. That hum had turned to a scream when the warm weight of her body shifted to the flutter of ash against your skin. You’d screamed but remained unmoved. That ash was your baby and no part of you wanted to let a piece of her escape nor did you want the wetness of your tears to muddle her body. You’d taken shaky fingers and gingerly raked the dove grey dust from your arms and hands into your lap. When there was nothing left to collect, you gathered the hem of your nightgown and created a small bag as you pulled it over your now nude frame. You clutched it and finally let tears break free. It broke you, but you placed the bundle as carefully as possible into her bassinet and threw one of your husband’s tunics over your body. 

The hallway between your chambers and Mosi’s room seemed endless. You ignored the cries and calls around you. Ignored the swirls of dust filling the air as you flung open his bedroom door and came face to face with your son now a small outcropping of grey nothing. Your legs would not hold you then and you fell onto them, bruises forming beneath the flowering pain. 

You were unsure how long you remained there, sobbing into the quietness of the room. Somewhere in the depths of your grief you heard the stark power of your husband’s voice shouting your name over the din of chaos filling the palace. You couldn’t let him find out like this, so you backed away from your pain and softly pulled Mosi’s door behind you. M’Baku met you mid-way between your chambers and your son’s. A sheen of blood clung to his skin, but he was there. Whole and solid. His eyes were changed, like he’d seen things he wanted to forget but couldn’t. You knew that feeling well and knew soon it would draw you closer together or drive you apart. 

You shot towards his body, launched into his arms and clung to him. He called your name again and again. Told you of carnage and death and the dusting of the world. You weakened with the knowledge your children were not the only of those now freed from their bodies. You were trying to process what had happened to the universe when he asked you to bring them to him. He’d wanted to gather the four of you together and pray to Hanuman for your safety and his mercy. When you didn’t move, he lifted your face to his and repeated his request. Something, perhaps the blankness in your eyes, made him set you to your feet. He asked again, his words breaking each time his request went unanswered. 

When the knowledge finally settled onto his shoulders, what was left of your world stopped. M’Baku screamed Mosi’s name as he bowled by you. You tried to capture his arm but were unsuccessful. You screamed after him that his first born was gone. This stopped him. You’d rather him turn to you than face the sight of his heir reduced to a drift of soot. It was as if free will left the mighty giant you loved. His stillness was palpable and large in the space of the corridor. 

“Unyana wam?” (My son?)

“Ubizwa ngokuba yikhaya” (He has been called home.)

You choked on your words, wanted to place your hands onto him, but the heat radiating from him stopped this from coming true. 

“Isoke? Ukukhanya kwam” (Isoke? My light?)

“Kukho, uthando lwam.” (Gone, my love.)

He broke into a run, making a direct path for your bedroom. It was impossible to keep up with his long strides. When you crested the threshold of the dim space, he was kneeled next to the bassinet, his long fingers skimming the satchel of his child atop the mattress. He didn’t have to turn for you to know he was crying. The heavy shudder of his body did that for him. This time you couldn’t stop yourself from touching him. He seemed grateful for the connection and crushed himself into your breasts, his breath hot and shallow through the fabric between you. 

“Yintoni esiqalekisiweyo? Ndonile? Ngaba andizange ndibe ngumkhonzi othembekileyo waseHanuman?” (What is this curse? Have I sinned? Have I not been a faithful servant of Hanuman?)

There was nothing you could say as comfort. You had none yourself. Your lives, what they’d been or could have been, was no longer possible. The world had shifted in the palace and beyond. There were no answers you could give him, no respite from the pain.

“How? Were they alone?” 

There would be no comfort in Isoke’s smile for you, but for her father there could maybe some small measure of peace.


	2. Chapter 2

Each evening, after the newly expanded quietness of the city had blanketed every household, you found yourself with knees bent before an altar. For six months they’d had no respite. The bruises so familiar across the surface of your skin seemed almost a birthmark. They had been born the night Isoke burst into dust in your arms, had come to maturity when Mosi’s body disintegrated before you could reach him. They’d grown wizened when each night M’Baku’s weary spirit had joined yours at the altar to pray for the souls of your children. 

He’d find you there, knees no longer buffered by the soft furs, the indent of your form long since burned into them. Even when you weren’t shouting you anger at Hanuman or begging him for forgiveness, the ghost of your grief remained. That’s how the two of you existed. Ghosting through life. It was the same throughout Jabariland, across Wakanda. The grief was thick. Living each day was like walking with anchors around each ankle. You tried to move forward, but every small bit of joy seemed a disrespect. You would not allow yourself to find pleasure in the sights around you nor in the solid body of your husband as he clung to you in the night. 

The altar, a singular glass box overlooking a bluff, was sacred. There rested the ashes of your children. The light in this space was honeyed. That was your doing. Some night, in the midst of yet another dream, your spirit had wandered the emptied palace halls. You’d heard a cry, then the laughter of a child. Those sounds had pulled you deeper and deeper into the corridors until the sights before you were unfamiliar. In a courtyard, canopied by an arch of mature fir trees, Isoke and Mosi had been bathed in golden light. Your baby boy held his sister close to his heart, his eyes sparkling and bright. You’d let loose a strangled cry and started towards them. Yet each time your steps propelled you forward, it seemed the distance grew. You broke into a run, arms outstretched with your dressing gown fluttering in the wind. Mosi’s smile froze you. Things turned crystallized around you. All was silent as you watched drifts of snow pick up speed and the two portions of your heart fade into flakes carried away by the wind. 

The honeyed light was your way of remembering them. On every available surface, beeswax candles took up residence. Some were encased in glass globes. Others stuck resolutely to the Jabari wood by the hardened wax they’d shed. Still others were housed in delicate vibranium candlesticks, a gift of mourning from Shuri and Ramonda. You knew somewhere in the Golden City, a similar gift of mystical wood held the light of another loss. 

The brief burst of artic air alerted you to M’Baku’s presence. You’d memorized his entry each night. The drop of his outer garments to the floor. The scrape of his boots being pulled from his feet. The groaning sigh he always emitted when his eyes found the sight of your bowed frame kneeled before the urns of the future stolen from you both. Then there would be the creak of the floor as each plank accepted his heavy steps, then the bulk of his body lowering next to yours. His hand would slide down his thigh and intertwine with yours in the gulch that was growing between you. 

You’d tried. Tried to sash yourselves together with the threads of grief. Tried to cling to each other and plant a seed to replace what had been lost. Hanuman had not allowed you to conceive. For that you were glad. No child should ever be born into such darkness. So, you’d thrown yourself into words, documenting the life around you so when you were reunited with your children there would be a record of how the world had shifted without them. You would share those words with them in the physical world or in the ancestral plane, but they would be shared. Your husband had thrown himself into the quiet rebuilding of a tribe decimated by the disappearing of men, women, and children. Responsibilities had to be shifted, jobs filled, families brought to some semblance of whole. 

These altar calls became the only time of day the two of you could peel back the layers of your grief and be raw under the sight of Hanuman. M’Baku had tried to be strong for you at first. His hands would hold the pieces of you together as you would lay prone in front of those urns. He’d held you each night until you could finally rise to your knees of your own volition for prayer. Then it was his turn to break. It had been a clear night, each star brighter than you could remember them ever being. You’d been lost in trying to count each of them as a way to calm your heart when the building tremor of his crying pulled you back to him. Now, your individual sadness came in waves. It battered you against the rocks, but you were learning the tide. 

You were mute as M’Baku lit new candles to the side of each vessel he’d crafted with his own hands. He’d locked himself away for a week, pausing only to fish splinters from his fingers and accept the crush of your body to his as you begged him to rest.

Sithandazela ukubuyela ngokukhuselekileyo (We pray for safe return)  
Khokela abantwana bethu babuyele ekukhanyeni (Guide our children back to the light)

This was your mantra each night, eyes closed and palms raised in submission. But each opening of your eyes found no children on the altar nor in their beds. You were tired of believing in Hanuman, but dare not say as much. He was a cruel god to allow a madman to change the world. He was a merciless god for allowing the light of the world to be extinguished. You hated him, but knew that wasn’t the answer. 

Another night of mourning ended, you and M’Baku headed into the waning light and back towards your chambers. You knew this evening would end as all others since that first night. One of you would cling to the other, refusing to relinquish their hold until the sun crested over the horizon. You cast one final glance over your shoulder, glad to see the glass glowing against the darkening sky. 

You woke with a start. The crying and laughter were back. Somewhere out of the corner of your eye you spied the golden glow of the altar. Something wavered within it. Sleep had been elusive these last months. You were lucky to drift into the darkness for a few hours each night. Some weeks you’d existed on fumes until your body finally gave into exhaustion and you’d wake confused and fearful. 

The light in the altar flickered with movement again. Now you were fully awake. Except you couldn’t move. M’Baku’s grip on you was crushing. You tried to gain momentum and swing your body over the edge of bed, but he grunted and pulled you back. You shouted his name and a command to release you. His eyes sprang open. They were wild with fear. You placed a hand to his heart to calm him before pointing towards the altar. Before he could come to full consciousness, you tore from the room. 

The shocking cold of the snow beneath your bare feet did not slow your movement. Nor did the heaviness of your sleeping gown wicking wetness around your calves. Nothing mattered except two small flickers shadowed in the honey glow of the glass box. You could only make out silhouettes, but you knew them well. One tiny body cradled in the arms of a miniature version of the man you loved. Your babies. 

You heard your husband’s roaring of your name from the doorway but pressed on. You could make out the crunch of his approach behind you as you came face to face with the altar’s door. The world crystallized again. Mosi, his bright smile directly in front of your eyes, was there. Isoke, a small burst of energy squirming, bucked in his arms. Your grip on the door’s handle faltered once. Twice. The third time you were able to pull it open and stumble into the warmed room. Knees once again finding their place among the floor, you did not feel the shattered pieces of the broken urns cutting into your skin. ‘

You could only feel the softness of Mosi’s arms beneath your fingers. Could only feel the steady breathing of him and his sister. You tried to sync your breathing with his, tried to connect. His name became a litany, a prayer answered. You knew M’Baku was there by the sheer force of his energy, then the heavy thud of his body pulling Mosi, Isoke, and you into the length of his arms. Around you, the wind carried a smattering of cries, shouts, and names. Families becoming whole again. Lives being restored.


End file.
